


Might Last A Day (Mine Is Forever)

by softer_softest



Category: Green Day
Genre: Boys Kissing, Breaking the Law, Bullying, Fluff, Happy Ending, High School AU, Love Declarations, M/M, Making Out, Pining, because why not, billie/mike - Freeform, green day rpf - Freeform, i think???, is spreading nudes considered bullying?, long-term friendship, that's it!, well spreading nudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softer_softest/pseuds/softer_softest
Summary: These are the kind of thoughts he only allows himself to have in the after hours – that meaning how truly beautiful Billie is, and how Mike's thought so ever since he was fourteen and he saw Billie cry for the first time, when he dropped Mike's new bass and thought he'd broken it. He looks even more delicate with the light reflecting off his nose ring, creating a pretty glow that can only be rivaled by Billie's eyes, green and sparkly.or, mike comes to the conclusion that a stranger's place has to be the worst place for love declarations. especially if you've broken in illegally.





	Might Last A Day (Mine Is Forever)

**Author's Note:**

> i have a permanent writer's block and writing short green day stuff helps me so i guess this will have to do. if you read this, please don't ask me how they didn't get busted as soon as they broke in because i don't know the answer. writer's block calls for desperate measures. as always; i do not own green day and i'm not saying that any of this happened.

“I can't fucking believe you're really making me do this.”

Well, that's a lie. Mike can absolutely believe that he's in this because of Billie, partly because of the reason why he'd jump into a fucking shark tank if Billie asked him to, but mostly because Billie's a brat who doesn't know how it feels not to get his way. It's still annoying that they could be out taking a walk, or literally anything else but buying spray paint in an old, smelly shop on a Saturday night.

Billie doesn't even tear his eyes away from the metallic spray containers to properly address him, just rolls his eyes, the only thing he seems to know how to do, “Can you stop fucking whining and get me the red paint from the top shelf?”

Mike's still grumbling nonsense as he reaches up and snatches the container with no difficulty, whereas Billie had been trying to reach it for the past five minutes without trying to make it seem obvious that he'd have to climb on Mike's back to be able to do that. “Midget.”

“Can you shut up?” Billie sighs, exhausted, getting on his knees to look at the paint on the bottom shelf. “And stop acting like I dragged you here when you were the one who agreed to it in the first place.”

“Yeah, because you looked ready to fucking cry,” Mike exclaims, kicking Billie in the ass. “I get it, okay? I just think this is a bit too much.”

Billie looks up at him. “Too much,” he spits, and Mike feels as if he's being towered over, although Billie's literally on his knees and shorter than him. “I'd like to see how you'd feel if that asshole ever released _your_ pictures like that.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't have taken them in the first place,” Mike huffs, his arms crossing over his chest in a form of self-defense. Billie can be quite intimidating when he's angry, and this comes from Mike, who's known him since they were ten years old and seen him do more stuff than anyone has ever, probably.

Mike knows he's right, though. He made sure to express how fucking stupid he thought what Billie did was as quick as it had left the other's mouth. Letting someone take nude pictures of you was no joke, it wasn't something you just let anyone do. The worst part of it all; the other person was a person of the same sex, which wouldn't make this much of a difference if Billie wasn't closeted and hated by most of the assholes in school. It was dumb, so fucking dumb, the dumbest thing he's ever done so far.

Billie looks down at that, and Mike knows he's too ashamed to look him in the eye right now. It makes him so sad, and he would have already beat this asshole's ass if it wasn't for Billie holding him back every single time. It pissed him off.

“You never told me how you ended up fucking him, anyway,” Mike pretends to be busy comparing spray paints, or whatever people who come in here even do, as nonchalantly as he can.

Billie clears his throat. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

He can at least respect that, he supposes. He doesn't say anything as Billie finally stands up, yellow paint in hand, and pushes it into Mike's chest as he runs over to another shelf. He picks up a pair of sharp scissors, testing the blade on his finger. Mike shakes his head.

“If we're gonna do this tonight I suggest we get on moving.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Billie says, but he doesn't budge. Eventually, he starts walking over to Mike, who's too busy trying to calculate the cost of the paint in his head. He looks up when the tops of Billie's shoes touch his. “Thank you for doing this, man. And you can totally bail out on me if you've changed your mind, alright?”

Mike takes a little while to respond, mainly due to the fact that Billie's been nervously biting his lips for the past hour and now they're all swollen and red, but he quickly comes back to his senses. “I say we go before I do change my mind and you end up crying and screaming at me.”

Billie laughs for the first time in a while, ever since the whole nude fiasco, and pulls Mike's arm with him all the way to the till. He makes Mike pay, of course, he does, and then they're walking out with all of their stuff hidden under their jackets.

“Now are you sure you know where this guy's house is?” Mike asks a few minutes later, the paint containers clicking and rattling under his jacket. He tries to hold them close to his chest so that they don't make any noise, but there's only so much he can take before he starts sweating. Fucking summer nights.

Billie huffs, “Do you know how many times I've been there?”

Mike laughs sarcastically, “I can imagine.”

“Why do I get the feeling you're still blaming me for all of this?” Billie stops walking, fixing Mike with the most accusing glare he's ever had the displeasure of experiencing. He's so mad about this, still, and Mike understands that this must have been hard for him – hell, it's been hard for Mike himself seeing him suffer through this – but it's not the first time he's been the victim of Billie's anger and regret.

“I'm just saying that you should have known better than letting a fucking _skinhead_ take pictures of you while you were having sex,” Mike says, and it feels like an explosion, because he's been wanting to yell at Billie over this for a week now, but always thought it was too soon for stuff like that. Mike's fucking angry, sue him.

“I can't believe you're still blaming me!” Billie yells, throwing one of the paint containers on the ground. It doesn't crack. “I didn't even know about some of them and you're still on this bullshit!”

“Yeah, 'cause you were too busy fucking... sucking cock.”

“Alright, well,” Billie mutters, angrily pulling Mike's jacket open and snatching the two containers, wiping at his eyes in frustration, “fucking forget it.”

And then he starts marching away, his footsteps loud and angry enough to cause an earthquake if he really wanted to. But Billie would never want to, because he's fucking wonderful, a precious person who's gotten fucked over by someone he trusted, and now his apparent best friend. Mike already feels sick to his stomach seeing Billie walk away from him, and he starts running towards him as soon as his whole body doesn't feel numb anymore.

“Billie!” he yells, and he thinks it's a good thing no one's around at this time because they definitely would have gotten yelled at for how loud they're being. Billie stills and turns his head stiffly, just in time for Mike to reach out to him and grab his shoulder, “Bill, I'm-” he pants, “I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I won't bail out on you tonight, man.”

Billie sniffs. He stares at him for a while and eventually gives him back the paint in what seems to be like slow motion. It probably seems like slow motion to Mike because Billie's eyes are a bit red from crying, which makes the green even more vibrant than it normally is – and what that means is that Mike can't bring himself to stop staring, but he does for the sake of following Billie around once again.

At some point, Mike decides to take a deep breath and put his arm around Billie's shoulders, squeezing him tight as they walk, “You didn't deserve that, Bill. It's not your fault, man, I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” Billie mutters, his face smushed against Mike's shoulder for just a wonderful, majestic second before it's gone. “You didn't really mean it.”  
  
Mike doesn't reply to that. Truth is, Billie should have known better than to let a fucking stranger take nude pictures of him. But, as Billie kept on insisting and crying, he wasn't a stranger, and he was really into Billie, as much as Billie was into him. Mike never liked this guy – and it wasn't only because he was so lucky that Billie even looked his way twice – mainly due to the fact that he hung out with all the people Billie and Mike swore to never give the time of day.

He sighs just thinking about it, and he tightens his arm around Billie's shoulders, who doesn't protest.

Soon, Billie starts hitting his chest and whispering that they're getting close as if they're on some sort of secret mission. He supposes it is, though. He's not sure how his mother would feel if he told her his infamous late-night plans involved trashing some kid's personal belongings.

Correction: trashing some skinhead's personal belongings. When he puts it that way, Mike has a hard time feeling bad about it.

“Alright,” Billie inhales harshly and pulls Mike's arm when he makes to walk further. This must be it, he thinks. They're in the back of a brick house, pretty standard, with a couple medium-sized windows not too far away from the ground. Mike takes a deep breath. “Push me up.”

“Huh?” Mike says dumbly, not at all surprised when Billie ends up pulling him under the window to the right, arranging his hands so that he can step on them and jump inside. Mike pauses, “Wait,” he rushes out before Billie can touch the window from where he's standing, on Mike's joined hands, “what if they have one of these security alarms installed?”

Billie rolls his eyes as if the answer's the most obvious thing in the world, “John told me that the lock on the window's broken and his dad's too cheap to have it fixed,” he laughs quietly, making quick work of opening up the window. “So much for being rich.”

Mike gives his own little chuckle and helps Billie inside, then climbing in himself without much difficulty. Well, he is a few good inches taller than Billie, but Billie likes to pretend that's false.

He waits until his eyes adjust to the dark, and then catches sight of Billie putting down all the things they picked up from the store. After the spray paint and scissors are neatly arranged on the floor, he stands up and raises his eyebrows at Mike, as if to ask _'what do you think?'_

“I didn't know he played guitar,” Mike decides to comment, gesturing weakly toward the array of electric guitars arranged in a straight line against the wall. They look expensive and almost untouched, and one of them even has a few stickers put messily on it.

“Oh, yeah,” Billie says sarcastically, inspecting an expensive-looking painting on the opposite wall. “He loves it. He stole the red one from that Jimmy kid in our Maths class, I think. He went ballistic on him. He ended up getting beat up,” Billie sniffs, picking up the scissors from the floor. “May I do the honors?”

Mike's roundabout speechless, failing to understand how come this John character ended up sharing so much information with Billie during the three-week-period of them going out – hell, if he can even call it that – but ending up nodding uselessly. Billie starts walking towards the painting he's been eyeing for two minutes now, and wordlessly stabs it with the scissors, repeatedly, repressing himself so as not to scream while doing it. By the time he's done, the painting's proper ruined – with big rips all along its surface.

“It was a nice painting,” Mike whispers.

“It was,” Billie sighs quietly. He walks back over to Mike, who tenses up ever so slightly when he's close enough to smell Billie's hair, and Billie picks up two containers of paint. He gives the green one to Mike, “Which one are you gonna get?”

Mike gulps and points at a black one weakly, so Billie goes and kneels down on the brown one next to it, shaking the container vigorously. Mike follows his lead, shaking the paint and opening it up slowly. There's a moment where he wonders if he's gonna regret this later, but then he remembers that this ugly bonehead showed everyone the nude pictures of Billie he was trusted with, and starts spraying a D on the surface of the guitar.

Billie takes a look at it, laughing as quietly as he can, “Dick?”

“Aha,” Mike murmurs, checking toward the closed door to see if he can hear any footsteps. He can't imagine what will happen if someone walks in right now. Well, he can. Jail is what'll happen, but it's not the first time he's almost gotten thrown in because of Billie.

He steals a glance at him, immediately pausing to get a good look. The window's left wide open, which means the moon gets to shine down on Billie's focused face, illuminating his cheekbones and cupid's bow wonderfully. These are the kind of thoughts he only allows himself to have in the after hours – that meaning how truly beautiful Billie is, and how Mike's thought so ever since he was fourteen and he saw Billie cry for the first time, when he dropped Mike's new bass and thought he'd broken it. He looks even more delicate with the light reflecting off his nose ring, creating a pretty glow that can only be rivaled by Billie's eyes, green and sparkly.

He snaps out of it just as Billie turns his head to give him a look. “You alright there, dude?”

“Huh?” Mike mutters, inhaling sharply and looking back down to his work in progress. “Yeah, sure.”

He can see Billie eyeing him for a few more seconds from the corner of his eye, but eventually, he lets it go and focuses on his own work for a bit. Mike glances down at it and sees the letters F and U written in vibrant yellow paint. He finishes off writing the word 'dick' on the guitar, opting for simple dick drawings on the rest of it. Billie starts giggling at it when Mike's just finishing off his second shitty dick, and he gets a weird surge of pride from making Billie laugh twice this night, though it's not anything new for them.

“Do you think this is enough?” Billie says after a few minutes of silence, referring to the vibrant 'FUCK YOU' across the brown guitar. Mike's eyes stray to Billie's face once again, and without looking away he nods, looking back down as Billie reaches out for something behind him.

He comes back with the pair of scissors, and before Mike can ask, Billie starts carving the word 'ass' on the free surface of it. He then stands still, contemplates it, and starts cutting up the strings almost maniacally, his lip caught between his teeth almost painfully.

Mike starts painting up the fretboard, borrowing the scissors from Billie to carve random straight lines all over it, and then breaking a couple of strings for good measure, leaving it alone only when he deems it useless. He crawls over to another one.

“Do you think we should take this one?” Billie whispers, touching a blue one softly. His fingers are yellow from the paint, but it doesn't smudge. It glows just as bright as Billie's face, and Mike almost reaches out and grazes his cheek with calloused fingertips.

He resists the urge to clear his throat, knowing it would make too much noise. “Sure. Just don't show it off or whatever.”

“I'm not daft, Mike,” Billie huffs, inspecting the back of the guitar carefully.

“I know that,” Mike murmurs, rolling his eyes at his own self, at the way his heart still skips a beat when Billie says his name. You'd think it'd have subsided after four years, but no. Great.

Billie suddenly stands up, paint container in hand, and walks over to a mostly naked wall. Mike shakes his head and follows him, starting to paint next to Billie, bumping elbows and forearms too many times to calm his racing heart.

It's not just the adrenaline from trashing someone's house, it's the pleasure of doing it alongside Billie, and the happiness he gets from punishing someone that broke his heart and humiliated him. He looks at him for the hundredth time that night and is not at all surprised to find him looking as pretty as he always does, either he's just woken up, or high, or sad. He looks at the writing on the wall, having finished with his own very intelligent piece of 'dickshit'.

“I can't believe I was this dumb,” Billie laughs humorlessly as he finishes off the T in 'eat shit'. He continues to giggle as he inspects their work, drawing up another erect dick a bit further down, always laughing silently, the poor thing. Mike's a bit stunned, to say the least. Billie laughs and giggles and chuckles, until his lip wobbles and he eventually breaks down, his hand no longer applying pressure on the spray paint container.

“Bill,” Mike whispers, wanting to hug Billie and help him stop shaking, but finding it hard to when he starts pacing around, rubbing at his eyes and scratching his cheeks as a form of distraction. Eventually, he sits on the floor with his back against the newly painted wall, his shoulders shaking as he sobs dry.

Mike sits down next to him, not knowing what to do to make him feel better. He hopes silent ethical support will do for now, until he calms down enough to be able to talk. He doesn't want to look at him while he breaks down, knowing how bad it would make him feel, so he stares at the destroyed guitars opposite them instead.

“Do you know how many times I've been called fag this past week?” he sniffs when he can finally talk, making Mike's heart clench up and ache. “Well, it's always the same group, at least. Not everyone's an asshole,” he chuckles humorlessly, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. “But, like, John hasn't gotten into any trouble with anyone. It's like he never had sex with me, but I did, obviously.”

Mike sighs into his palms. “These aren't _his_ pictures going around.”

“I guess,” Billie sniffs again, staring straight ahead at John's trashed personal belongings. It's dead silent, which is what should be the case if they don't wanna get caught any time soon. Mike's suddenly hyper-aware of the fact they're in a stranger's house, and he starts to wonder if anyone had seen them get in, but he figures that since they haven't been thrown in the back of a police car yet they'll be fine.

He sighs again.

“Who'd want to see my dick anyway?”

Mike bites his hand so as not to break down laughing, seeing Billie's shoulders shake softly from the corner of his eye. He shakes his head, “More people than you'd think.”

Billie pauses, and Mike thinks this might have been too much. It was meant to be a fucking joke, anyway; he's seen Billie's dick before for Christ's sake.

He backtracks, “You know, like, many people could be finding you, like, attractive and...” he rubs at his eye, “You maybe didn't even know.”

 _God, stop talking._ Billie isn't talking anymore, just listens to Mike's inconsistent rambling and stares straight ahead. He steals some glances at Mike here and there, little awkward and slow glances, but he ends up shaking his head and sniffling, wiping at his wet and snotty face.

“For God's sake, Mike, hug me, will ya?” Billie huffs suddenly.

Mike breathes out a laugh through his nose and scoots closer, pulling Billie in against his chest, burying his nose in his hair, bleached blond and amateurishly straightened. He can still see the black roots on the top of his head, and he reaches up to stroke them, pretending that for once in his life he has the balls to tell Billie just how much he means to him. He contemplates it for a second, with Billie starting to tear up again in his shoulder, decides that this is the least appropriate setting to do so, and then figures out that he doesn't give a damn.

“Billie?” he whispers, nervously bouncing the fingers of his free hand on his knee.

Billie hums in acknowledgment, his face still smushed against Mike's chest, rattling his bones with every single breath he takes. This room's too hot, and the atmosphere's thickening. At least Mike thinks so.

“I love you, man,” he breathes out, his heart already beating louder, quicker in his chest. Billie must be able to listen to it pound, with his ear connected to Mike's sternum and all that, but he doesn't comment on it.

Billie nods, and Mike's heart speeds up even more, if possible. “I love you, too, Mike.”

Well. This isn't a huge step toward the right direction, or at least the direction he was hoping for – right or wrong – because he and Billie say I love you quite frequently. Mike felt that this time there was something different in his tone while he said it, and he had hoped that Billie would notice, but he can't really blame him.

He gives it another try. “I really care about you, Bill,” he whispers, quietly, and he tells himself it's solely due to the fact that anything above a whisper could be the reason they get caught, because they have broken into someone else's property after all, and this is definitely not the fucking time for love declarations. “Like,” he gulps, and Billie smushes his cheek further into his chest, “I care about you a lot. You know that, right?”

Billie furrows his eyebrows, still sniffling quietly, “I guess so. Thanks, dude.”

“Seriously,” Mike slaps his own forehead with his free hand, wanting so desperately to shut his mouth and not speak for the remainder of the night, but it keeps coming up like word vomit, “I'd die for you. I love you, man.”

Billie pauses for a bit, and then he lifts his head up slightly, a humorous gleam in his eye, “What's gotten into you?”

“Hell if I know,” he mutters, though he does know, and he's known for three years now.

Billie must finally sense that Mike's heart is beating faster than normal because he hooks his chin on his chest and looks up at him through swollen eyes. Mike doesn't think they've ever been a clearer green, with the light shining directly on them, red-rimmed and tired. His lips are a bit swollen also, like the rest of his face due to him breaking down crying earlier, but Mike still thinks he's prettier than any person, or any flower or anything ever created. He faintly registers Billie whisper his name in confusion, but it's just a blur before he starts leaning down, his eyes already closed and his blood boiling in his veins.

It's not until he thinks he's an inch or two away from Billie's mouth that he opens his eyes, because the comforting warmth of Billie's body snuggled against his chest is gone. He looks over worriedly, and there Billie is, in all his shocked glory, a foot or two away from him. He looks so confused Mike could cry, but there's not anything he can do except sit there, completely still, his lips forming words he hasn't got the balls to say.

If he didn't know better, he'd say Billie looks betrayed. But that's too harsh, so he doesn't want to get into that.

Billie's still eyeing him. Eventually, he stands up and grabs the scissors from the floor, resuming his work on one of the guitars, the blue one he'd wanted to take home with him. He must be too shook up to remember that, though, and he keeps pausing his carving only to resume a second or two later.

Mike's still sitting in the same spot. He sniffs and wipes at the forming tears with his wrist, grabbing the discarded paint container and starting up on the wall once again. The only thing he can think of writing is Billie's name, so he opts for a few more dicks and an ugly caricature of a face until he can't take it anymore and tiptoes over to where Billie's knelt down, noticing that the once sleek blue guitar is now trashed beyond repair, though he thinks it has its own charm, because Billie's the one who ruined it and carved on it. Charming little Billie, who can't even fathom to look at him.

“Can you at least look at me?” Mike whispers, intensely, making Billie do just that without wanting to. Mike huffs, “I'm sorry, alright? You don't have to pretend I'm not in the room.”

Billie looks at him for a little longer before he nods and goes back to the guitar, nibbling on his bottom lip thoughtfully. Mike sits down a little farther away, wrapping a limp, broken string around his finger and watching it go purple, releasing it just before it goes numb, and thinking about all that happened in a mere two minutes.

He can hear Billie giggling. It's so quiet it's almost impossible to pick up, but his shaking shoulders give him away, and the smile he tries to bite back. He doesn't know what's so funny all of a sudden - well, maybe it's the fact that the two of them have never been able to be umcomfortable around each other for too long, or that Billie might be finding the fact that Mike's crazy about him absurd and hilarious for whatever reason - but just the fact that Billie's laughing makes him giggle, also, with his head still lowered.

He's still laughing, so he doesn't hear when Billie stops giggling, and he doesn't see him move closer from the corner of his eye. He only figures out something's different when he feels a cold mouth on his cheek, just the slightest touch, a soft peck that sends tingles down his spine.

His breath hitches and his head jerks toward Billie, who's frozen in place, with his mouth shut tight and eyes wide, vulnerable. Billie's on his knees still, tilting his head slowly, and by the time he counts to three, Mike feels another soft kiss on his cheek. It's better than nothing, he supposes. Maybe it's better than anything, even, just for the delicious tingles that he feels go through him every single time.

There's another kiss on his cheek, then another, and then it stops. Mike thinks he should do something, anything, but he's frozen in place, so he guesses Billie will have to handle this one.

Luckily, he does, and it's the briefest little peck, but it's also the sweetest one he's had in a while. Billie's so shy about it is the thing, and it drives Mike mad. He chuckles ever so briefly and surges forward, on his knees, his hand cradling the back of Billie's head.

Billie's reaction is immediate; his hands come up to curl around Mike's neck, kissing back lazily, sighing as he feels his head being massaged from gentle fingers. Mike rises on his knees, now a few inches above Billie, and resumes his kissing, one hand straying away from the straightened hair and reaching down to cup a delicate waist. There's a lot of huffing just for the sake of there being no whimpering, because that'd be too much noise, and they can't risk that.

They've broken into someone's home and all they can think about is making out, for Christ's sake.

Billie whimpers ever so slightly, so Mike breaks their heated kiss, clamping a hand over his mouth, “Be quiet,” he mouths. He raises his eyebrows as if to ask if he's been understood, and Billie nods slowly, his lips soft and swollen against Mike's palm.

He kisses Mike again as soon as he's been let go, and he ends up falling on his ass, with Mike knelt between his open legs, still going at it heatedly. This isn't the time nor place to be doing this, Mike thinks, but it may be his only chance, and he's dumb and young and hormonal so all he can do is kiss Billie more vigorously, his hands grasping to grab onto the floor underneath Billie's raised back, supporting himself up.

He can feel a small, cold hand traveling up his shirt, along his back, and another one swiftly feeling all over his stomach. It's so soft that it makes Mike want to take a break because he's getting dizzy from it, and Billie. He needs to occupy his mouth with something, so he ducks his head to nibble and kiss at Billie's neck instead.

Billie's breathing is erratic, and the hand on Mike's back takes on an almost deathly grip, his nails digging in painfully and leaving red nail marks, while the hand on his stomach slides further up to feel around his chest.

There's a moment when Mike bites down angrily on the side of his neck, and Billie finally collapses on his back weakly, his head making a loud banging noise on the floor, accidentally knocking over one of the propped up guitars with his arm. Mike freezes on top of Billie, and Billie's hands go still on his torso and back, meeting worried eyes with Mike.

He can hear a bed creak into the silence of the night. Billie pushes him off swiftly, his eyes frantic and hands shaking. Mike stands up as well, and he merges his hands together under the window once again, feeling like the room's closing in on him when he hears reluctant footsteps coming from the corridor.

“Shit,” he whispers to himself as he pushes Billie up, and as soon as he's out of the window, he grasps onto the windowsill and kicks his way up, jumping out and landing on his hands and knees.

“Run!” Billie whisper-yells, grabbing Mike's arm and yanking him along harshly, making him trip more than a few times. They run fast, and it registers to Mike that they've left their supplies back in there, but he can't think about it for too long as Billie pulls him into a dark alley, sheltering them from anyone's line of vision for a while.

“Fucking hell,” Mike pants, his lungs burning as much as his face. He dares to look up at Billie and starts panting even harder at the sight of a flushed face and a stupid smile, directed at the sky above them. He eyes him for a while, trying to figure out the reason why he's smiling so dumbly.

“What are you smiling for?”

Billie's still panting as he tears his eyes away from the sky and directs his attention toward Mike, smiling and laughing, “Adrenaline,” he says uselessly and steps forward to hold onto Mike's shoulders, giving him a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

Mike sighs softly, hugging Billie close, feeling his heart slow down until it's beating at a normal pace – as normal as it can while kissing someone like Billie.

“Do you think the coast is clear?” Mike breaks the kiss to ask, his breath having gotten heavy.

“This is some spy movie vocabulary type of shit, huh?” he laughs, his lips trailing all over Mike's cheek softly. “I think we should stay in here for a little while, just to be sure.”

“We can't stay in here forever,” Mike hisses in an attempt to be quiet, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Billie starts kissing down his neck, lingering on his collarbones a bit longer.

They stay in there for a few more minutes, though it seems like an eternity, and eventually they walk out slowly, pulling their hoods over their heads as they walk. One would say that this would be more suspicious than anything – two young guys aimlessly walking around wearing all black with their hoods over their heads at four in the morning.

Mike clears his throat for the first time in an hour or so, “Do you want to... hold my hand or some shit like that?”

Billie's steps don't falter, but he scoffs and shakes his head, a small laugh of his warming up Mike's whole body. “Yuck,” he rolls his eyes, reaching his arms out and wrapping them around Mike's torso, smushing his face against his chest. They continue walking. “That's fucking gross.”

Mike sighs as he puts an arm around him, shrugging a shoulder, “I suppose.”

They walk in silence for a while, and Mike thinks he spots one of the paint containers that they dropped on the sidewalk on their way to John's house, but he doesn't mention it. He doesn't care enough about it, to be honest, because he feels warm all over, though his hands are still shaking slightly from the whole ordeal.

“So...” Mike clears his throat, glancing up, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, “is this, like-”

“Ugh,” Billie groans, hitting his forehead against Mike's chest, pretending that it's a brick wall. “Oh, my God.”

“Alright, alright!” Mike backtracks, giggling in disbelief. “We're not talking about it.”

“Thank you,” Billie huffs, removing his arm from around Mike's front and keeping it limp on his side, his other arm still wrapped firmly around Mike's lower back.

Mike really wants to shut up – no, he actually _really_ does – but he just can't help it right now. Maybe he'll eventually learn how to enjoy the moments of comfortable silence between him and Billie Joe, but now he just has to talk. “You know we have to really talk about it at some point, right?”

Billie huffs again, and rubs at his eye with his free hand, “Okay, whatever. Shut the fuck up, now, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Mike mutters, burying his nose briefly into Billie's hair and inhaling sharply. He leaves a little kiss there, hitting the back of Billie's head when he starts gagging, then pinching his ear for good measure.

All in all, he comes to the conclusion that it's been a pretty good night. Did he break the law? Sure. Did he ruin and trash a complete stranger's personal belongings? Yeah. But, as well as that, he ended up with Billie snuggled against his side, into his chest, his arm loose around his neck and his mouth buried in his dyed hair. Yeah, it's been a pretty good night, no doubt about it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
